


The Charade is Over

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Series: In Which the Author Ignores Sly 4 Completely [1]
Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort Food, Depression, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Food, Food Issues, Found Family, Homesickness, Insomnia, Interspecies Romance, Light Smut, References to Depression, Romance, Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves, Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: "Carmelita was suspicious. Then, of course, she had been suspicious for a long time. Sly was not a good liar, and there were holes in the stories he’d clearly made up for the character he was playing."
Relationships: Sly Cooper/Carmelita Fox
Series: In Which the Author Ignores Sly 4 Completely [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992913
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. I Knew It

Carmelita was suspicious. Then, of course, she had been suspicious for a long time. Sly was not a good liar, and there were holes in the stories he’d clearly made up for the character he was playing.

Admittedly, Carmelita had given him the part and told him to play it, so it was probably her fault for not giving him more to work with. Surprisingly, though, Sly having all of his memories was somehow not what amazed Carmelita the most.

Sly was...not being Sly Cooper, the thief. He wasn’t sneaking out at odd hours and coming home late. He wasn’t trying to craft weapons or contact his friends. Sly was being “Constable Cooper,” her partner in more ways than one. Constables got grunt work, stuff that should be beneath Sly, even if he’d been a cop beforehand, but he never complained when asked to walk beats, and took it in stride when other cops teased and hazed and harassed him for being, essentially, a “caught man.” (Not only were Interpol suspicious of Sly always, but it was somehow the worst fate the meatheads she worked with could imagine being her partner.)

If Sly got home before her, he’d cook dinner, offer massages, talk about work or talk about mundane things depending on what she needed. He was playing the part so perfectly that Carmelita was practically enchanted, and she knew that even though she was 90% sure he had his memories, she wasn’t going to turn him in,

In the year since what she had mentally referred to as Sly’s “capture,” Carmelita’s perspective had shifted. She’d always considered herself an honest cop whose duty was to bring Sly Cooper, master thief, and his gang to justice. What she had failed to realize was that Sly was actually much more than that, and his dedication to this part, and by extension, to her, made Carmelita feel very special.

She longed to talk to Sly about life as a thief, for she imagined it to be lavish, exciting, and full of fun heists, things she longed for when she became a cop, only to find out busting criminals was only part of the job. But she couldn’t do that if he was pretending to be a Constable. By her estimation, if she confronted him about it, he’d assume she was intending to arrest him (sadly, she thought, not an unfair assumption) and run for the hills, never to be seen again.

However, about a month into their new lives together, in which they’d actually gotten a two-bedroom apartment in Paris, upgrading from Carmelita’s stingy studio apartment, and had begun dating, leading Sly to be reassigned to a different inspector who genuinely treated him like dirt, Carmelita began to wish she’d sat Sly down and explained things.

Sly’s health was declining.

He began suffering from insomnia, something Carmelita only discovered when Sly actually began drinking caffeinated coffee, and when confronted, explained with a cheery smile it was temporary and thus it would go away soon. He was eerily silent getting out of bed (evidence in the “has memories” column), and usually had breakfast waiting for her in the morning. Then, he did begin to disappear, saying he was going out for a run, claiming he didn’t feel “in shape” enough, even though he seemed fine in that department, despite being underweight. His appetite began to wane, slowly at first; he’d decline offers to go out to lunch, claiming he’d already eaten, or he’d make dinner for one and be “out for a run” when she came home. His fur had begun to lose color, the vivid black stripes fading to a darker gray, and he began getting mouthy to his superiors, something he wouldn’t have risked before.

Carmelita knew she needed to step in, and was intending to take him to a doctor, kicking and screaming if she had to, when she actually heard Sly get out of bed one night.

There was a squeaky floorboard on the side of the bed that he typically slept on, the one closest to the sliding French doors. Sly was not, to her surprise, though it shouldn’t have surprised her at all, a chauvinist who thought women were weaklings, but he insisted on sleeping by the window to “protect her,” which she let him do if it would make him feel better, which it did. Sly usually stepped over it out of habit, but he was either too tired or too preoccupied to notice. And it woke Carmelita instantly.

She carefully rolled over in the bed, watching Sly on the balcony. He was only in boxers, and should be freezing in the brisk autumn air, but instead he stood there, staring off into the distance over the rooftops, the wind blowing through his fur. His tail lay still against his legs and he seemed lost, somehow.

Carmelita carefully sat up, pulling on her robe over her short nightdress, careful not to move too quickly or too loudly. She looked at the floor, watching her steps carefully to ensure she would miss the squeaky floorboards, and nearly jumped when she heard quiet sobbing. She looked up, and noticed that Sly was crying like his heart was breaking, face hidden in his paws to muffle the sobs, tail curled around his ankles as some form of comfort. His entire slender body shook violently as he sobbed, and Carmelita couldn’t do anything than sit on the edge of the bed, wondering if she should go to him like she wanted to, or just leave him to cry. She felt powerless, tears springing to her eyes too, as she watched Sly crying in obvious despair. Had he cried every night? Was every long, sleepless night spent hiding his tears? Or was this the first time that some long-hidden sorrow had finally caught up with him, and it was too much?

And Carmelita realized...she’d been selfish and cruel. Sure, Sly consented to the deception, but...but she’d read his case file, hadn’t she? She knew the kinds of situations he’d been in over the years. It was enough for a lifetime, and he was trapped not being able to talk about it with his romantic partner because in the charade, there was no sorrow he could use or invent that would even come close to what he was dealing with. Worse yet, Carmelita realized, he was away from his friends, his brothers, who he had grown up with and suffered and traveled and laughed and ate with. She’d uprooted him from his support system and ordered him to play house with her or consent to go to jail...and he had. And he’d played house and stayed because he loved her. At least that was real. Stupid girl that she was, she knew he’d always loved her. 

Why had she asked him to prove it?

Feeling defeated, Carmelita got back into bed and lay there, pretending to be asleep. A few minutes later, Sly returned to the bed. She could feel him face away from her and curl his tail around him. When she chanced to peak at him, he was cuddling it, like a child might hold onto a toy for comfort.

~

For three days, Sly told her he was staying home from work. “Think I got the flu from one of the guys,” he said with a sheepish smile, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a mug of tea and a French drama on the screen. “I’ve already called out. Just don’t get sick yourself, okay?”

She’d kissed his forehead, told him to call if he needed anything, and then left him like that. For three days. And each day, Sly would still just say it was flu. On the third day, he actually fell asleep before she got home, and didn’t come to bed that evening. Carmelita didn’t ask him to. She suspected, with an Inspector’s intuition (she hadn’t become the youngest fast track inspector in her division for her looks, after all), that Sly was going to confess. And on the fourth day, she was rewarded.

When she came home, Sly was dressed in a blue v-neck, very similar to what he had worn as a thief, and a blue cap. It might’ve been his signature blue cap, but she wasn’t sure. He was sitting at the table, waiting, and he looked up when she came in. “Carmelita,” he began his voice sounding a bit tired, as if he was actually sick. “Can we...talk about something?”

“Sure, Sly,” Carmelita said, peeling off her boots, coat, and badge, sitting down as neutrally as possible before him. No jokes, no flirtation; she wanted him to speak his mind.

Sly seemed to be thinking very carefully about what he wanted to say. He wasn’t typically someone who tripped over his words; he was concise and straightforward. The fact that he’d (probably) been prepping himself for three days and was still finding this difficult said a lot. Finally, Sly cleared his throat. “Carmelita,” he said, trying and failing to keep eye contact, “what we have is great. I love you, and I will always love you.” The way he said it so effortlessly made Carmelita’s heart skip a beat. “But...I’ve been lying to you, this whole time. I remember everything.” This time, he did meet her eyes as he very deliberately placed his hands on the table, palms up and wrists together, which made Carmelita back away in shock. “I am Sly Cooper, heir to the Cooper Clan. A thief. So. Arrest me.”

Carmelita stared at him, open-mouthed in her shock. Sly was just...going to give himself up, without a fight? Did he honestly expect her to book him then and there, take him in and throw him a cold, dingy cell, with horrible food and no rights, until he was tried and sent to prison?!

Yes. Yes, obviously, he did. And he was obviously too tired to fight back. This wouldn’t be the first time, Carmelita reflected, that Sly had offered himself up for arrest. He’d done it to save his friends, after the whole Clock-La affair. Perhaps he was still trying to protect them, but, frankly, the Cooper Gang was no longer on the map, as it was considered neutralized. Sly would know that.

Maybe...maybe he was just...tired of living a lie. Carmelita couldn’t blame him for that. And he likely knew, given his history, he’d get a psych evaluation, and with his level of trauma, he might even get off easy in a trial, but…

“No,” she said.

Now it was Sly’s turn to catch flies. “You...you don’t...I mean…”

“I’m not going to arrest you, Sly,” Carmelita repeated, reaching out to grab his hands. “I’ve known you had your memories. I’ve known for a long time.”

“Then why not arrest me?!” Sly demanded. “You’ve wanted me captured for years!”

“I don’t want that anymore,” Carmelita replied, her voice soft and sincere as she watched him. Oh, it hurt her heart to see him look so suspicious, like she was suddenly going to cuff him roughly once his guard was down. “I’m sorry, Sly. I know you love me, and I made you prove it, over and over again. And you did, every time. I took you away from your family and the life you made for yourself, and I’m so, so sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry...you deserve…” Thoughts of Sly sobbing on their balcony rushed back to her brain, and suddenly, she was crying. She’d hurt him. She’d hurt him again and again and again. With her shock pistol, with her words, with her manipulation, and he was still here, waiting to be arrested, and now she was the one crying when all she wanted was to comfort him…!

“Ma chérie,” came a warm, soothing voice. Strong arms pulled her to her feet, pulling her in towards a sturdy chest as her arms wrapped around his slim waist. She buried her face into a gray-furred neck that smelled like familiar cologne and their shared bed and cried like a child while he soothed her, his tail tickling her calves as he whispered endearments over and over again, rubbing her back as she calmed down.

Finally, she pulled away, her eyes red and raw from crying, rubbing them pathetically. “Sorry,” she said, chuckling self-deprecatingly. “My brother would’ve made fun of me for crying. And I wanted to comfort you. I didn’t mean for it to be the other way round.”

Sly smiled warmly. “We all gotta cry sometimes, ma chérie. It’s okay.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re really okay with me having my memories? Sorry for lying, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’ve come to...understand things from your perspective in some ways, though I still have my qualms.” She raised an eyebrow. “Working with the Panda King, for a start?”

Sly frowned. “I...had to put my anger aside. So did he. We had a job to do. I couldn’t really forgive him, but I genuinely wanted to help his daughter.”

“Right, Jing King.” Carmelita nodded, snorting as she remembered. “I busted Tsao at his own wedding!”

Sly giggled. “That was pretty funny.” Then, he ran a hand through his hair. “All jokes aside...I’m not sure what to do now. I want to see Bentley and Murray again, more than anything. I’ve missed them. And I have no idea what to do about Interpol.”

“Let me worry about Interpol,” Carmelita rested her palm on Sly’s cheek, her thumb gliding over his cheekbone. Sly made a sort of chittering noise that almost sounded like an insect; a raccoon’s purr, and closed his eyes, wilting as he leaned into the touch. And Carmelita suddenly remembered that she hadn’t seen Sly eat anything for three days, possibly four if he hadn’t eaten today, which she guessed he hadn’t. As Sly relaxed, (she was scratching between his shoulder blades because he liked it, but worryingly, she could feel his spine), his balance was failing him, and he kept having to catch himself to stay upright.

“Did you eat anything today?” Carmelita asked. They could take things one at a time, and this was at the forefront of her mind, not in the least because she was hungry, too.

Sly shook his head, still chittering, like it was nothing. Carmelita realized it probably wasn’t, due to his life on the road, and that scared her a bit.

She pulled her hand away and Sly stopped chittering, eyelids flowing open. Now that she was looking, his eyes were glazed over, his face thinner. And a fair few ribs were digging into her breasts. (She and Sly had yet to have sex and, if she was honest, a rib was not the type of bone she expected to feel when pressed this closely against him.) He’d been catching up on his sleep while playing hookey, obviously, but food wasn’t high on the priority list, it seemed. “You haven’t eaten for four days, Sly,” she scolded. “I can feel bones, for heaven’s sake!”

Sly blinked. “It’s really been four days? Oh.” He laughed. “No wonder I felt a bit lightheaded while practicing my Ninja Spire Jump!”

“”Oi, I’m serious, ringtail!” Carmelita swatted at him. “I’m worried! I was about to drag you to a doctor!”

The raccoon deflated a bit, looking away shyly. “Yeah, that’s...not uncommon. I have what you could probably call an eating disorder, though it’s never been constant. Bentley always called it “relapsing” whenever I showed signs of it in the old days.”

Carmelita isn’t surprised by this knowledge. People who go through trauma, particularly at a young age, sometimes feel their lives are out of control. This can lead to numerous behaviors, but one of them is this type of behavior. The person controls food intake, because it’s a very easy thing to control.

Sly went on, “I had to make sure I was within a certain weight class to even do half of what I needed to for heists. That meant watching my weight, getting enough protein, that sort of thing, but sometimes, it just...got overwhelming, I suppose.”

“That sounds awful,” Carmelita said dumbly, thinking of all of the athletic moves she’d seen Sly perform while she was chasing him. She couldn’t do any of that on an empty stomach! She’d pass out easily! Speaking of passing out, Sly was swaying. “Whoa, whoa, steady on there, soldier,” the fox murmured, gripping Sly’s biceps. It was clear Sly was beginning to fade; he was blinking a lot and seemed dazed in addition to his poor balance. “Here, sit down and I’ll make something.”

“Mmkay,” Sly sat obediently, leaning back in his chair and taking deep breaths. Carmelita gave him some water with a bit of sugar in it, and was satisfied when Sly perked up a little. 

Carmelita decided to make soup. It would be quick, easy, and filling, while being light enough to not cause indigestion. She figured unintentionally starving yourself was at least a bit similar to the sour stomach you get after drinking hard liquor. Then, something occurred to her. “Do raccoons eat trash?’ She realized after she said it that this was the type of question diversity training told her not to ask.

Luckily for her, Sly laughed. “The short answer is yes,” he replied, chuckling. “We need “junk” food as part of our nutritional diet, and trash can’t really hurt us. We’re like rats, with less tolerance, and not like lab rats, who can eat medical waste and stuff like that. Anything older than a week is...less than pleasant to digest, but a few days out of date is normal for me.”

“Nutritional…” Carmelita turned to face him. “You’re nutrient-deficient?!” She hadn’t seen Sly eating trash, so either he was being careful about it, or…

Again, Sly shrugged. Carmelita wanted to slap him; he shouldn’t be so nonchalant about his health! “Well, yeah. Couldn’t really get away with it at the station, and I want to at least seem kissable. Oh, but,” he added, distressed by her nerves, “processed food counts! So I choose that when I can.”

Carmelita shook her head. “Sly...you didn’t have to. And…” She curled her tail inward, her ears wilting shyly, “...I’d kiss you even if you were in the dumpster with a mouthful of trash.”

“Hot damn.” Sly whistled. “In that case…”

“Don’t test me, Cooper,” Carmelita laughed, brandishing her ladle like a sword.

“I surrender!” Sly laughed, beaming. 

~

The soup was good, but Carmelita noticed, after finishing her first bowl, that Sly had barely touched his.

“What’s wrong, Sly?” She asked, touching his shoulder as she walked by him for seconds. “Don’t you like it?”

“No, I do!” Sly promised. It’s true that it was good; rich chicken stock, freshly chopped vegetables, and tender chunks of beef swam in the bowl. It was enough to make his dormant appetite stir, reminding him how hard it had been to leave food out for Carmelita on days when he’d pushed himself a little too much. He’d sprained his ankle landing on a building one night, and had to limp home and ice it all night because he’d been thinking about the Chinese he’d smelled a mile back! A rare little voice whispered that if he was hungry, he should eat. But he had something on his mind. 

When Carmelita sat back down, he said: “Bentley sent me my binocucom.” He fidgeted nervously. “He wants to send me my cane and my pack, but I’d rather see him in person.”

Carmelita swallowed her spoonful and thought a moment. “We need to make sure we’re secure…”

“Yes! I’m with you!” Sly agreed, tail twitching excitedly. “I’ve been meaning to upgrade the security for a while, but I couldn’t think of an excuse, or how to ask you to test it for me.” He scratched behind his ear. “I’m not as good at the security stuff as Bentley, but I know my way around the tech, at least, and I can sorta troubleshoot. Bentley’ll wanna take a look at it, and he’ll have additions. If you don’t mind.”

Carmelita smiled. “I can’t think of anyone better at security systems than a thief. Except maybe his brainier brother.” Sly laughed, relieved. “Now, eat your soup before it gets cold!” She thought a moment, remembering what Sly had said about trash. “I think we have some anchovies in the back of the fridge. They might be a bit smelly, though.”

Sly wet his lips. “Actually, that sounds amazing right now.”

Carmelita made a face, but went to get the anchovies. They were even smellier past their “sell by” date, but once they were in Sly’s soup, they didn’t smell that bad. And, the extra benefit was Sly slurping down his soup inelegantly, clearly ravenous. Carmelita made a mental note to leave things that were past due in the fridge longer from now on, and gave Sly more anchovies, slipping him a few vegetable peels she’d tossed in the bin while making the soup earlier.

As she watched Sly eat, she dreamed of having a family, and wondered if Sly would be excited or apprehensive about being a father. She imagined someone so athletic would be an absolute delight in bed. 

And she wondered if she’d get a craving for trash when she was pregnant with his baby. Only time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say it with me: WOMEN CAN BE STRONG AND LIKE SEX AND ALSO WANT A FAMILY!!! Okay, rant over.
> 
> This is the first part of my "but what if there was no Sly 4?" series, so...yeah, expect me to ignore most if not all of Sly 4 in this series. Don't like, don't read. Simple as that.
> 
> If you're here for this, though, PLEASE leave comments and kudos! It really helps! Mwah! Love you all!


	2. Family

Carmelita was impressed with how prepared Sly was. Even though the Cooper Gang was considered neutralized, Bentley and Murray had significant prices on their heads, and it was always in the back of Interpol’s mind. It was important that everything be as secure as it could be. After all, they didn’t own the entire apartment building. 

The plan was that Sly would let them in through the basement, then take the service elevator to the fire escape, letting Murray climb down and Bentley use his hover jets to get in through the balcony. Carmelita never imagined that Sly planned much, but she was wrong, and glad to be so. 

Sly had also upgraded their security and put in little security cameras throughout the building. Even without his cane, which helped for balance and could be an excellent pole-vault in a pinch, he could scale and grip pipes, railings, and could even hold onto things just by crossing his legs. 

Carmelita had kept watch for him while Sly installed cameras in the unfinished basement. The raccoon had climbed up onto one of the washing machines, swung himself up onto a pipe, and disappeared into a mess of wires, insulation, and pipes in the ceiling. He’d worn a pair of construction gloves and a mask, to avoid inhaling the insulation. When Carmelita, curious, went over to check on his progress, she saw Sly holding on by his legs, thigh and ab muscles straining as he patiently screwed the camera into place, tail swishing to help him keep his balance. The only evidence that he felt the muscle strain were quiet puffs of breath and a furrowed brow. 

Through careful correspondence, Sly, Bentley, and Murray all worked out a time to meet. Carmelita didn’t try to pry, for she knew Sly was also using the communications to catch up with his brothers, and Sly seemed grateful. He did, however, let her know that a date and time had been picked. It was mid-week and late at night, but Carmelita had expected that. 

It was nearly 4AM on the appointed date. She and Sly had taken their work vacations that week, ensuring they’d both be off-duty during that time, so no Interpol officers would have reason to call on them. Carmelita was making a meal for them, just some simple tortillas they could assemble themselves, since Sly told her Bentley had a fair amount of food sensitivities and allergies. Seeing that the food prep was almost done, she wandered back towards their shared office. 

Sly had been a little better about eating, but as the appointed time grew nearer, excitement had gotten the better of him, and Carmelita couldn’t persuade him to eat. “I’ll wait til dinner,” Sly had said. “There’s still so much to do.” While she was touched at the amount of prep, she was going to watch him like a hawk to make sure he actually did eat. The large black leather chair and dual-monitor set-up, combined with the way the blue light from the screen reflected in his eyes, made him look small. But his ears twitched when he heard her come in, and he lifted his head with a smile. Same old Sly. 

“Hey, Carmelita.”

“Hey,” Carmelita smiled back. “Food’s almost done. I’m just waiting for some beans to heat up.”

Sly sniffed the air, then grinned. “Mmm. Smells good. Thanks.”

“No problem. Just don’t get used to it,” the vixen teased, crossing the room and draping herself over the back of the chair. Sly’s hat (his original hat, she learned, that had been a gift from his father ages ago) had been set aside, so she reached forward, scratching against his scalp with her fingernails. Sly chittered and tilted his head under her touch in appreciation. 

Carmelita had seen security camera set ups in her time as a cop. They were mostly used for break-ins, so she could easily identify why different angles were important and adjust to the shorthand Sly had used to identify each camera. That is, until she saw that some of the more remote cameras had little lasers attached to them, which she hadn’t remembered seeing. “What’re those for?”

“The lasers?” Sly asked, following her finger. “They’re motion sensors. Almost invisible to the naked eye. If something or someone trips it,” he pulled a window from the second monitor onto the main monitor, “it sets off an alert here. I’ve tied them to my phone, so I get a notification about it. So far, it’s just been the neighbor’s cat.” 

“Wow, that’s handy.” Carmelita mused. 

“Thanks. Bentley showed me how they work. I have trouble paying attention when he goes all “schematic mode” on me, but I absorbed the basics.” Sly shrugged. “Figured it’d be good to know who’s tripping the wires. No surprises.” 

“Useful when letting wanted criminals into your home,” Carmelita commented drily. She’d meant it in jest, but Sly pulled his thighs up under him so he could turn in the chair without dislodging her. 

“What’s their priority level?” He asked, looking nervous. “Rover wouldn’t tell me when I tried to subtly pry, and he keeps a security cam in his office.” Inspector Chad Rover was Sly’s direct superior. A stereotypical police Doberman, Rover was a “bite first, punch second, never ask questions” kind of guy, who was intense during interviews and had numerous complaints stacked against him. Only his loyalty to Interpol’s Finest netted him amnesty...and control of Sly. To Carmelita, he was just a school bully who finally found a sponsor. 

“B-level,” Carmelita told him. “Ten at most. Wanted still, of course, but since your…” she struggled with what to call it. Capture? Reformation? Acting? “...situation changed,” Accurate, if vague. “I doubt Interpol cares all that much. That’s not to say, “throw caution to the wind,” but…” She waved her hand vaguely. “It’s not important to them.”

Sly let out a breath and slumped in the chair. “Phew! You had me scared for a second.” Then, he groaned, rubbing at his shoulders with his fingers. “You know he had me sorting case file boxes? I’d rather have a mindless task than risk being seen by old accomplices out on the beat, but man! Those things are heavy!” 

Carmelita tsked. “Poor cariño,” she purred, replacing his fingers with her thumbs, digging in deep around the base of his neck and his shoulder blades. “He needs to stop working you so hard.”

“I can take it,” Sly dismissed, but sighed as he slid further into Carmelita’s touch. “That feels divine, though. Thanks, chérie.”

“Of course,” Carmelita kissed Sly’s forehead. “I should go check on the food. I’d imagine your brothers have better appetites than you do.” 

Sly swatted at Carmelita playfully. “That’s rich, considering you have a better appetite than I do.”

“And I’m proud of it!” Carmelita laughed. “A girl’s gotta eat!”

“Absolutely,” Sly stood up, stretching, and slipped out of his cardigan, revealing a form-fitting blue tunic underneath. “I’m going to get into position, chérie. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m counting on it, cariño,” Carmelita replied as she set the table.

~

At precisely 4:30AM, just as Carmelita was starting to doze off in her chair, she heard heavy footsteps and the click of a wheelchair on the balcony, and she stood up nervously, fixing her hair and sweater. These were Sly’s brothers, and she felt that she had to pass muster. She wanted them to know that she cared about Sly, too. 

Sly led the way into the room, followed by Bentley’s suped-up chair, and Murray, who had to duck under the doorway because of his height. It seemed like since the “mission” was over, they now actually had a chance to laugh in relief. 

“That was just like the old days,” Sly grinned. He was using his cane as a walking stick, leaning on it as he chatted. He looked so at ease, so natural holding the cane, it was as if he’d never abandoned it in the first place. 

“Absolutely!” Murray bundled Sly up in a big bear hug, squeezing him tightly. “I missed ya, pal. We were worried sick about you. Bentley had surveillance on you 24-7!”

“It’s a good thing, too,” Bentley said, adjusting his glasses as Sly was set back down on the ground. “You’re looking mighty skinny, Sly. What have you been eating these days?” He started when Sly embraced him, gradually returning the hug. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Bentley. Though, we’re leaving someone out.” Sly turned, crossing to Carmelita and taking her hand. “Guys, you remember Carmelita.”

“I remember being on the wrong end of her shock pistol,” Bentley said smartly. Carmelita felt ill at ease around the turtle, like he was looking into her soul and judging her for every bad decision she’d ever made. 

“Of course I remember!” Murray looked like he was about to go in for a hug, then seemed to think better of it, offering his hand to shake instead. “Carmelita. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Carmelita tittered nervously. Bentley raised an amused brow. 

“Let’s eat,” Sly suggested. “We can discuss everything after we’re all full.”

“Yeah, I can think better on a full stomach. And those tortillas look delicious!” Murray complimented. 

“Mm,” said Bentley, rolling over to the table and poking Sly hard in the side. Then, he turned to Carmelita, smiling. “Join us, inspector. Well, I suppose this is your home, so, rather, may we dine?”

Carmelita nodded dumbly, thinking that Interpol’s assertion that Sly was the mastermind behind the Cooper Gang was laughably incorrect. 

~

Despite her nerves, Carmelita couldn’t be happier with the way the evening had turned out. It seemed like Sly was falling back into old habits, talking with his mouth full, catching food in his mouth, and laughing joyously. She would start to feel left out, but then Sly would explain a joke, or say, “Hey, remember when…?” and launch into a story she’d never heard before. 

Murray was not what she’d expected at all. While clearly not book smart, he was emotionally intelligent, making an effort to praise Carmelita’s cooking and eagerly began to swap recipes with her. He also complimented her eyeshadow, something Sly barely noticed. (She did it for herself, not for Sly or anyone else, of course, but it was nice to be noticed and praised.) He talked about his boyfriend, Tom, a civilian with a day job, and how they’d met when Murray bumped into him at a supermarket. 

Bentley was quiet for most of the meal, laughing and interjecting here and there, but Carmelita could tell he was data crunching, assessing the situation. She figured she wouldn’t be accepted without his approval, but unlike most people, he didn’t really give away what he was thinking. 

“Sly,” Bentley announced after the meal had been demolished, “I’d like to take a look at your security, and I’m going to check that your binocucom is functional.”

Sly, looking dozy after four tortillas stuffed with beans and curdled cheese, stretched with a grunt and nodded. “Sure, it’s this way. Nothing too impressive, but I set up a fair few of them.”

Carmelita watched them go, feeling forlorn. She was almost jealous of the relationship Sly had with his gang. She and her brother had never gotten along, both born with passionate tempers. She’d never had a sibling relationship before, and it hurt to think that Bentley didn’t like her. 

As if reading her mind, Murray said, “don’t worry, Carmelita. Bentley likes you just fine.” 

Carmelita raised an eyebrow at him. “Wha…?”

“Yeah, Bentley just doesn’t trust people too easily,” Murray went on, standing to help her gather the dishes. “I hear he and Penelope aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. He just doesn’t want Sly to get hurt.” To her surprise, he stepped up to begin washing dishes, pushing his sleeves up. She took up a towel to dry and just listened to him speak. “Bentley looks after all of us, always has. It’s scary for both of us when Sly relapses, cause Sly can do things neither of us can do, and also, he’s our brother, and he’s suffered enough, y’know? We wanna protect him how we can.”

Carmelita frowned. “You knew he relapsed?”

Murray nodded. “He’s too light and bony, and kept getting distracted. He fidgets badly when he’s itching to burn calories.”

The vixen sighed sadly. “I thought maybe he was getting his appetite back.”

Murray put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Make sure you hide the scale from him, though. Otherwise, he’ll keep checking it.”

“He wanted to see you guys, I think,” Carmelita said. “I think he was worried about you.” She looked over at Murray. “Is Tom coping with the whole “wanted criminal” thing?”

Murray sighed. “Sorta. His family doesn’t know yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Carmelita patted his back. “That must be hard.”

“Yeah, but we’re happy,” Murray smiled. “And they’re assholes.”

Carmelita laughed out loud. She hadn’t expected Murray to curse. 

~

“You were scaring her over dinner, y’know,” Sly said, leaning over the back of the leather chair as he watched Bentley tap away furiously at the keys. 

“Who?” Bentley asked, distracted. 

“Carmelita. She thinks you hate her.”

“Nah, I don’t,” Bentley pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m just worried about you. I was a nervous wreck when I realized you had your memories. I thought we were gonna have to bust you outta jail!”

“Honestly, I thought so, too,” Sly chuckled. “But we’ve talked a lot since that night. I think she finally gets it. At least, enough of it.”

“And you have someone to talk to about your trauma,” Bentley said. 

Sly twitched his tail nervously. “I don’t want her to think I’m broken.”

“Sly,” Bentley looked firmly at him, “you need to tell her. At least so she knows what to do if you get triggered and start to panic. You shut down and go completely nonverbal when you have panic attacks. She needs to know what to do.”

Sly groaned. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“It’s just scary to let her in,” Sly admitted. “It’s scary even letting her meet you!”

“Because I hate her,” Bentley teased. 

“Because you’re family,” Sly said seriously. “You and Murray both. We’ve shared so much…”

“And we still will,” Bentley smiled. “Carmelita won’t change that. Not now.” He rested a hand on Sly’s arm. “Listen, man, if you have the chance to be happy with someone you love, then go for it. I’m speaking from experience, here. Don’t squander it just because you’re getting cold feet.”

Sly nodded. “I really want a family with her. It seems like I’m so young, but I’m ready to settle. I want her.”

“That’s something to talk about with her,” Bentley made a face. “I don’t wanna hear about how much you masturbate to her.”

Sly squeaked. “Bentley! That was one time!”

~

As Bentley and Murray were preparing to leave, Bentley pulled Carmelita aside. 

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn’t like you,” he apologized sincerely. “I respect you and I don’t hold a grudge against you for anything you did in the past. Sly loves you. Please don’t hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Carmelita said, shocked. “T-thank you, Bentley.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bentley replied. 

Carmelita waved from the bedroom as Sly guided Bentley and Murray out. That had gone better than expected, she decided, though her social reserves were running extremely low. She was happy when Sly reappeared twenty minutes later, alone. 

“Cariño,” Carmelita purred, wrapping Sly up in a hug and hooking one leg over his hip, slotting herself up against him, sure he’d be able to feel her through her thin leggings and satin underwear, “do you love me?”

“Oui, ma chérie,” Sly shuddered pleasantly, his hands sliding teasingly down her sides, and up under her sweater, teasing her through the seam of her bra, making her bark in surprise. 

Carmelita grinned wickedly. She ground against him, sighing as she felt him echo her movements. “Then fuck me, Sly Cooper.”

Sly buried his face in her neck, moaning, his breath hot against her. “Are you sure?”

“Course I am,” Carmelita nuzzled him. “I’ve been dreaming of your hands on me for years.”

Sly nipped her, making her whimper, straining against him. “I...I wanted to wait, didn’t want you to think I only wanted you for your looks…”

Carmelita grabbed his hair. “Let’s talk later, Sly.” She ground into him again. “This is my consent. I want you.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re already in the bedroom,” Sly grinned. 

Carmelita wanted to hate that self-satisfied grin...but it seemed as if the thief was as good at stealing orgasms as he was at stealing jewels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m ace and a lesbian, so I’m not good at writing het sex...
> 
> Anyway, the important bit is that Bentley and Murray approve of Carmelita. Wahoo!

**Author's Note:**

> Say it with me: WOMEN CAN BE STRONG AND LIKE SEX AND ALSO WANT A FAMILY!!! Okay, rant over.
> 
> This is the first part of my "but what if there was no Sly 4?" series, so...yeah, expect me to ignore most if not all of Sly 4 in this series. Don't like, don't read. Simple as that.
> 
> If you're here for this, though, PLEASE leave comments and kudos! It really helps! Mwah! Love you all!


End file.
